The Damage
by J.R.B. Gold
Summary: Ginny is damaged, and that's really all there is to it, as far as she's concerned. Hermione and McGonagall know better, especially when an attacker is still roaming the castle free.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So, here's the thing. I'm looking to see what kind of reception I'm going to get, and if it's good, I'll try to continue. I have four of about thirty chapters written, but I must warn you, it's heavy stuff. Not usual Harry Potter-land things. But please read, review, and hopefully enjoy!

**The Damage**

Chapter 1: Three in the Morning

"_Do you want to go somewhere?"_

"_I dunno…."_

"_It'll be fun."_

"…_You know what? Okay. Let's go."_

•••

Hermione walked silently through the halls. She held her wand out in front of herself, just as a precaution. It had always made her nervous to be alone, so vulnerable to an attack. The paranoia only worsened in a place as large as Hogwarts. She had been struggling with it for years, the result of watching too many horror movies over past summers in order take away from the awfulness of reality, attempting to replace it with the horror of another's imagination, but she had been misguided. She still saw the mangled bodies of her friends rather than those of film stars covered in red corn syrup, but now they were more gruesome and contorted than ever.

She was frustrated by that. Horrified by it, but she always pushed that particular emotion back. It was not worth mentioning. She was constantly horrified. It was getting to be redundant.

A year had gone by, yet she still could not move on as totally and completely as she wished she could.

Had it actually been a year? No, couldn't be. Several months, maybe.

No. A year. She had missed her birthday in the tent, her muggle coming-of-age slipping away without so much as a whisper, but she had definitely turned nineteen this past year. Harry and the Weasleys had thrown her a party, celebrating her youth.

She was still a teenager. Funny.

Hermione squinted her eyes into the dim light. Normally, she would not be patrolling the corridors. That job was left to the Head Boy or Head Girl (the latter of which she had politely declined to accept when the position was offered to her by Professor McGonagall, believing it would be depriving another deserving student of a position well-deserved), or one of the professors

Tonight was different. She had been given special permission to do so, and hours of anxiety had finally led to her current state—wandering virtually blind through the castle.

Ginny was missing.

The last time she had been seen, she was leaving the party with someone. No one knew whom, exactly, but Romilda Vane had seen enough to know that it was one of the Gryffindor boys. Hermione had no idea why Ginny would be leaving the common room with any boy, seeing as she only had eyes for Harry, and made barely any interaction with her fellow students, but that was beside the point. Whoever it was had already returned, and he was refusing to step forward and reveal himself. It was just another setback in the search.

Wherever Ginny was, she was alone.

"Ginny?" Hermione called out nervously. Her voice shook slightly. She jumped back as she nearly collided with a suit of armor, and then quickly sidestepped it. Her face flushed red even though there had been no one to witness her clumsiness.

There was not response to her call, and her voice simply echoed off of the walls. Hermione's eyebrows furrowed.

_Where are you, Ginny?_

The party. Hermione had known all along that it was a bad idea. Why had she let herself be talked into it? It wasn't the kind of lighthearted party that was held after the Quidditch Cup. It was a real party. It was the party of adults, or at least the imitations that the children had come to be, a party for those matured past their years, already longing for retirement from lives full of conflict and exhaustion. It was a party with tight clothing, dimmed lights and alcohol that was somehow snuck into the castle.

Alcohol.

Firewhiskey.

Yes, there had definitely been Firewhiskey.

Hermione cringed at her own lack of discipline. Why hadn't she confiscated it? Or at least she could have informed Professor McGonagall of the party. Why had she _drunk_ it? She was the oldest student in Gryffindor Tower! She was supposed to be setting a good example!

But she hadn't.

She hadn't, and she hadn't wanted to be a role model for once.

She wanted to forget.

And she had succeeded. Succeeded so well that she had forgotten why she was alert, why she could not let her guard down.

Because every time she did, things like this happened. People disappeared, people got hurt, people had their hearts and souls ripped from their bodies, blood was shed, lives were sacrificed.

She tried to put the swirling thoughts away, but they all began to crash against the barrier she had hastily formed in her need to dissolve all distraction.

Stop, she warned.

Again, this time with more determination they rushed forward, an army roaring through her head.

Don't you dare, she warned herself.

They struck again and again until the mental dam broke, and this time they all came flooding in at once, leaving her suddenly snatched away from her sense of purpose – all of them.

The boys, laughing loudly, their faces shiny and red, swaggering drunkenly towards her. The girls, huddling together in their short skirts and bared midriffs, giggling as they sipped their drinks. Herself, leaning against a wall with her face in her hands, a throb in her temple, attempting to ignore the uncomfortable tightness of her shirt.

For certainly not the first time that night – morning, whatever – Hermione wished desperately for Ron to be there with her, holding her hand. She hadn't seen him in weeks; she was always at Hogwarts and he was always helping George manage Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. All she wanted was to see his face. She hated to admit it, but sometimes she would try to see his face and soak in all of the small details, but couldn't remember enough to do so.

Of course, had Ron actually been present during the current situation, he would be too anxious about Ginny to even consider how Hermione felt. Ron was good, but he couldn't multitask with his emotions

Either way, she would not have the comfort she selfishly desired. She had felt this miserable only a few times before, but this one occasion was the first time she felt such a way at Hogwarts. Hogwarts had been transformed much too dramatically to allow for her to remain in a constant state of content.

Statues were missing. Walls had been damaged. The whole school showed signs of being broken to pieces and hastily put back together again.

If only the students could be repaired as easily.

The students that had survived the battle wore scars on their bodies and twisted expressions every moment that they remembered the nightmare. There were conflicted looks in their eyes, forever contemplating whether the lasting damage was even worth surviving the war for. They had all been changed, and not for the better.

Dennis Creevey had not even fought in the battle, but he was as hurt as the others. Hermione had no choice but to look awkwardly look away every time she saw him, desperate to hide the embarrassed glint of guilt in her eyes.

What did Dennis do to deserve the loss of his brother? Colin Creevey had been much too young to die.

Lavender Brown had returned to Hogwarts along with Hermione. Although her blood status had not posed a threat the previous year, she had been one of the few students to return in an attempt to reclaim her education, after that miserable year with the Carrows.

Greyback had attacked Lavender. He had not been transformed, but just like Bill, she wore scars on her face and neck that would never fade. Hermione had come to her rescue before the situation could have worsened, but still – was it even worth it for Lavender, who could no longer walk unnoticed in public?

Hermione no longer had a choice but to be somewhat cordial when around Lavender. "You saved my life," Lavender had said at the beginning of the year. "I owe you for that." They were not quite friends, but they could now bear to be in the presence of one another, if not enjoy it.

Ginny. Ginny was one of the worse. She had not laughed in months. She had avoided death countless times, but she had lost her older brother. She had witnessed murder and those close to insanity. She had seen far too much.

Not to mention that Harry Potter had virtually disappeared from the public eye. He occasionally came to visit on holidays, but if so, only for a day or two. He was always preoccupied with his Auror training. The only thing Ginny had left at Hogwarts was Hermione, but even Hermione knew that it just wasn't the same.

She knew that a person could only handle so much before they broke. Ginny Weasley had most certainly passed her limit.

"_Hermione! Have you heard about the plans for the party?_"

The party. Ginny had been so excited about the party. She had even begun to smile again.

How could the night have gone so terribly wrong?

"Ginny!" Hermione yelled. Once again, all she could hear was the echo of her own voice bouncing off of the walls of stone.

"_A party? What are you talking about?"_

Ginny was a seventh year. A seventh year with more than enough practical experience in self-defense. She could fight her way out of anything. No one in all of Hogwarts doubted that.

Where was she?

"_You know. A party. A real one."_

Hermione checked her watch, the planets orbiting the face as usual, just as they had the day before, nothing changed but the situation.

Three.

It was three in the morning.

The party had ended at one.

Romilda Vane had seen Ginny leave at twelve.

Hermione's breathing grew harder. Where was she? What had happened to her? Who had she even left with?

The drunken faces and sweat began to cloud in front of her eyes again as the bodies that were no longer there closed in on her. She was trapped in another nightmare.

Would they ever stop?

She could not bear the thought of being haunted for the rest of her existence.

Had Ginny been drinking? Didn't she have better sense than that?

Had her emotions driven her to it?

Had Hermione just known at midnight, would it have made a difference?

"_Hermione." A hand was on her shoulder. She turned, facing Dennis Creevey._

_Hermione sighed. "What do you want, Dennis?"_

"_I'm looking for Ginny. Have you seen her?"_

"_No. Not since…I dunno, about an hour ago. Why?"_

_His face fell slightly. His eyebrows began to furrow. "Romilda saw her leaving with someone a few minutes ago. I thought she'd be back by now."_

"_No, sorry, I haven't seen her, but I'll find you once I do. What do you need her for?"_

"_Oh…I just heard something from Jon…I wanted to talk to her."_

"_Er… Okay. But…um, Dennis. She'll probably be back soon."_

"_Yeah. I guess so."_

_He walked away._

He had walked away, just like that.

But Hermione had lied. Ginny didn't come back. She still hadn't come back.

At twelve-thirty she should have known. She should have realized. She should have been quicker to act.

"_Hermione?" The girl's scars twitched as she spoke._

"_Yeah, Lavender?" Hermione stared at the scars, feeling sick. Maybe it was the drink she had quickly swallowed in when attempting to make the spinning stop, but looking at the girl made her nauseous._

_Or maybe it just made her sad._

"_I know it isn't any of my business, but I noticed Ginny hasn't come back from her walk outside. It was already past curfew when she left. It's even later now, so there's no reason for her to still be out in the castle."_

"_You're sure she's not back?"_

"_I'm sure. Romilda Vane noticed too, but we all know she doesn't like being around you – probably intimidated, you know, because of the battle – so she wasn't going to tell you, but I just thought you should know."_

"_Er…okay. Thanks, but I… I'm sure that…I think…Ginny's fine. She'll be back soon."_

"_Fine. Whatever you say."_

"_She will!"_

"_Yeah. I believe you." Lavender shook her head, almost unnoticeably, and then walked away._

She walked away, just like that.

But once again, Hermione had lied. Ginny wasn't fine. She had known it then, deep down, but she had ignored that feeling. She wanted to believe that everything was perfect. Everything would be okay. Everyone was okay. Things would get better, but only if Hermione believed hard enough.

She just had to believe it, right? Then she could move on with her life?

Over the next half-hour she had stood there, leaning against the wall she claimed as her own. Her stomach twisted inside of her, and she slowly slid down that wall. Her tongue had felt heavy and her heartbeat pounded in her forehead.

It had taken half an hour for her to finally stand up and push her way to the center of the common room. It had taken her that long to scream for everyone to be quiet. To point her wand up in the air and shoot out red sparks.

"_Everyone shut up!" she screamed._

_The room fell silent._

"_Party's over. Now. Go to your dormitories before I report you all to McGonagall."_

_Everyone walked away._

They all walked away, just like that.

At one-thirty she had just been sitting. Sitting in a chair in front of the fire, attempting to register what had happened to allow the whole night to progress as it did.

"_Er…Hermione?" The girl spoke cautiously._

"_What do you want, Romilda?" she snapped._

"_Umm…"_

"_Why aren't you in bed?"_

"_I could ask the same question!" she replied, trying to gain some authority. She reminded Hermione of the girl she had met two years previously._

"_I have insomnia."_

"_Why?"_

"_The battle? I dunno. I just can't sleep anymore, alright?"_

"_Oh…"_

"_Well, get on with it. What do you want?"_

"_Ginny hasn't come back, yet. No one's seen her since midnight."_

"…_Are…are you sure?"_

"_Have _you _seen her?"_

"_No…I haven't._

"_She's not in the dormitories."_

"_She's…she's not?" Hermione's head was spinning again. It was strange of Ginny not to say goodnight, but maybe she was tired and forgot. That was it. She had just forgotten._

"_No. And I've asked everyone if they have. No one's seen her."_

"_You're…you're sure? You're sure she's not there?"_

"_Positive."_

"_Oh… Oh, Merlin. Oh, God... No one's seen… When did you say she left?"_

"_Midnight. Or sometime close to that."_

"_What time is it now?"_

"_One-thirty."_

"_Merlin… One-thirty… Is anyone else missing?"_

"_No—well, actually—no, but I saw her leaving with one of the boys, but he was already mostly out of the common room by then, so I only saw his leg. Do you think she's okay?"_

"…_Okay…okay… Romilda, I want you to go back up the stairs. Look again. Check every room. The boys' dormitories, too. Wake up Lavender and tell her that she's in charge of keeping everyone here while I'm gone… And then…."_

"_What are you going to do?"_

"_I'm going to McGonagall."_

"_She's probably alright. Maybe she just went to the kitchens."_

"_Yeah. Maybe."_

Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe wasn't good enough. She had checked the kitchens. She had checked the whole seventh floor, as well as the sixth and fifth. The professors' offices had been searched, as well as McGonagall's.

It was three in the morning. Hermione was looking for Ginny at three in the morning.

Maybe wasn't going to cut it.

A girl who could take down Death Eaters was missing.

Hermione stopped moving, realizing that she couldn't breathe. Her knees buckled, and her breaths came in choked gasps. She felt the heat building in her cheeks.

_Look what you've done._

Her wand clattered to the ground as she began to cry. She had lost one of her best friends. She had lost her. She had lost her the same way she had lost her quills and her dignity and her sanity. Poof. Gone. Gone forever, most likely never to return.

Hermione leaned back, reclining against the wall. Her tears dripped a river of guilt down her cheeks. Faster, faster, faster, until her face burned with humility.

She dragged her sleeve across her face, a moist trail slithering to her ear. A year had gone by, and she was still crying a ridiculous amount of the time. A year, and she still couldn't handle the simplest of things. A year, and it was still a painfully shocking surprise to her when something went wrong. A year, and she was slowly forgetting what it was like to just be able to sleep.

It seemed like an eternity, but eventually her tears did subside. Eventually, numbness slowly crept underneath her skin. She could feel herself drying up and hollowing out, leaving her body burning, but empty.

She sat there in silence, waiting for her nerves to calm. She stared at her wand, shining in the low light.

Eventually she brought herself to stare at her watch.

It was four in the morning.

She stood carefully as she tried to regain the sense of balance she had lost what felt like a lifetime ago. Such a long time ago. Or maybe it wasn't that long a time. Had it truly been just that small of an amount of time? Had the age of mourning really been just a year? How could she even survive a year in such a terrible state of grief?

She didn't know. Hermione had been grieving for even longer than a year, and she still wasn't sure if she could convince herself that she had actually survived.

Hermione began to walk once more, her wand pointed ahead with a steady hand. The trembling of anxiety had faded, replaced by the numbness that had invaded her body.

Hermione simply looked. Looked for a glimpse of red air. The green shirt that had reminded Ginny of Harry. Her denim Muggle skirt she had bought with Hermione on a desperate shopping trip, part of a ploy to distract the two of them from their lives, their world, their existence.

She saw nothing but despair.

"Ginny!" she called.

She hoped for a miracle.

A sign.

Anything.

Nothing.

"_Hermione… What would you say to having a party in Gryffindor Tower?"_

"_You mean like the one after the Quidditch Cup, right?"_

"…_No."_

"_So you mean…a party? You're serious?"_

"_Yes."_

"_No. NO! Absolutely not!"_

"_Why not?"_

"_We just shouldn't! We'd need permission from McGonagall, and you know she'll say no. We can't.."_

"_Who said anyone was going to tell her?"_

"_Ginny!"_

"_Come on! Please? It would be fun!"_

"_I get a bad feeling when it comes to parties."_

"…_Hermione…you know how I've been, right? I'm always sad. All I ever want to do is sleep. I never actually do anything. I've been absolutely dreadful to be around."_

"_I know."_

"_Great. Thanks."_

"_You know what I meant!"_

"_You're right. I do. So, please, Hermione. This is the first thing I've wanted to do in a long time. Please let me have this one thing."_

"_I…It's just that I…Er…Okay. All right. Fine."_

"_Thank you! Thank you, Hermione! You're the best!"_

The longer she walked, the more exhausted Hermione felt. She found herself going over a list of people who would hate her when they discovered that she had failed.

_Harry's going to kill me,_ she thought. _And if he doesn't, Ron will. Then Mrs. Weasley will. And if she doesn't… _

She stopped herself there. Of course Mrs. Weasley would kill her. She would kill her without a second thought. No backup would be necessary. She had been told what had happened between Mrs. Weasley and Bellatrix Lestrange. She had seen the latter's corpse. Mrs. Weasley would take her down in a heartbeat.

Hermione knew that if it came to that, she would truly deserve it.

She walked on, feeling the hope slowly draining from her body. Hopeless and half-asleep, she continued to search. She continued to cling to the tiny shred of the possibility that it would all be fine. It could all still be fine. It would be okay. A year could go by, and she and Ginny would end up okay.

"Ginny!" she called out for the final time.

She waited for the silence. For the crushing feeling of despair.

She heard a quiet sob instead.

Her eyes flew open.

"Ginny?" she asked tentatively, preparing herself for disappointment.

There was another sob.

"Ginny!" she screamed, feeling relief flood back into her. She ran forwards, barely feeling her legs underneath her.

The crying was soft and broken, plucking at Hermione's heartstrings, one by one.

"Ginny?"

There was silence.

Hermione stood in front of a broom cupboard on the fourth floor. She stared at the door handle.

Unlocked. It was unlocked, not even closed completely.

Oh, Merlin.

She grasped the handle and slowly opened the door.

Oh, God.

"_Have you seen her?"_

Yes. She had finally seen her. But she didn't want to see her like this. She tried to look away, but couldn't. She was incapable of tearing her gaze away. She tried to scream, but couldn't. She could feel it in her throat, slowly welling and straining to be heard.

"Ginny," Hermione whispered, not knowing what to do.

"_I get a bad feeling when it comes to parties."_

Hermione looked at the bruises on her arms, her legs, her face. The thin strap hanging off of her shoulder and the blood crusted on to her skirt. The girl that carefully held herself, her limbs blotchy and her dignity shattered.

Ginny slowly turned her head, looking at Hermione. Her lip had split open, dried blood on her mouth and chin. Her eyes were bloodshot.

"Hi," she said quietly, looking downwards.

Hermione kneeled down next to her, different thoughts dashing through her head. She finally settled on, "What happened?" even though she already knew the answer. It didn't feel any better to ask.

Ginny said nothing, turning her head back away.

Hermione bit her lip and reached for her hand, gently taking it in her own.

Ginny began to cry. Hermione wanted to throw up.

"'M sorry," Ginny cried, leaning her head back against the wall. "'M sorry."

Hermione just watched her broken friend as she wept.

_"Okay. Let's go."_

_"You sure?"_

_"I'm 'solutely positively… let's go."_

_"Are you drunk?"_

_"So what if I am?"_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I would like to thank all of you who read this, especially to the reviewers .scream, bigblusky, hovercat1, and R. Clay – who reminded me, anyone who reads this needs to know that there will be mentions of sexual assault. I am never going to get explicit, and it is not my intention to exploit the matter. This is a character study more than anything else. In addition, thank you to agecarbo, arise11, blondewolf1, and ninjin-x for adding me to your respective alerts.

Someone mentioned that I shouldn't rely on flashbacks, and while I wholeheartedly agree, I will be using them significantly in this chapter. However, after this chapter, the amount will decrease substantially.

Now that I'm done with my technicality and gratitude speech, I give you my second chapter. Read, review, and hopefully enjoy!

**- **

Chapter 2: Scream

"_My head hurts."_

"_That's because you were drinking, Ginny."_

"_Oh…right. Why did I do that? But you're one to talk. You had just as much as I did."_

"_No, actually. I didn't."_

"_Oh, but I…? Never mind, then… But didn't you… You had at least two, didn't you?"_

"_Yes, and you had five. I can stand up by myself."_

"_Hmm…you're right again."_

"_I know."_

"_So, where are we…we're going? Where, exactly?"_

"_You'll see."_

•••

In the past hour, it had gotten so bad that Ginny couldn't stand the whispers. The gasps. The sympathetic tones. The tears. After a while, anything anyone did or said just made her wish she could curl up into herself and disappear. Anything anyone did or said simply made things worse, if that was even possible.

People.

She had begun to hate them. It was the people that made it worse.

She just wanted them to go. Was that too much to ask?

At least Professor McGonagall hadn't been there in the Hospital Wing for a while—not since an hour before, when Ginny was brought in. She was supposed to be back soon to hear the full description of the damage. She hadn't had time before.

The damage.

Ginny had been hearing that a lot recently. She pulled the sheets of her cot over her head, but it did nothing to block the brightness. The lights had been kept on just to make sure she was okay. Just to make sure she wasn't in harm's way again.

Just to make sure she didn't try and make a run for it.

People were ugly on the inside. Very ugly. She knew that now. She knew it all too well. They were right in assuming she would escape if given the opportunity – she had spent a good half hour imagining scenarios in which she stole Madam Pomfrey's wand, blasted the doors open, made a quick detour to the Gryffindor common room, and flew off into the distance in an escape similar to the legendary last act of mayhem committed by her brothers.

Had it not been for Hermione, she most likely would have already acted out a rashly conceived plan. Her friend was good, even if Ginny occasionally had the urge to throw a pillow at her and make her leave her and never come back. And Harry. He was good. He was too good. She couldn't…no. He wouldn't look at her the same anymore. Not after what had happened.

She had been taken and ripped apart and hastily put back together, leaving her sobbing and cold and her head throbbing, reminding her of when she was younger and stupider and poured her heart and soul out to sheets of paper in the hopes of escaping, just to find that the pain only intensified. Just to find that by the time she realized what was occurring, it was far too late, and she was left to herself to die.

"What was the full extent of the damage, Poppy?"

There it was again.

The damage.

It came from McGonagall's voice. The word entered through Ginny's ear and twisted around her brain, squeezing tight and painfully. Her head pounded.

_Go. Away._

"Heavy bruising to her face, arms and legs. A nasty concussion when she was brought in. Some deep scratches across her stomach and back. No…permanent injuries. She will heal with proper care."

_But that's where you're wrong._

"Then I must ask… Why is she still here if you have already healed her injuries? Why is she not discussing this with us, for that matter? I have known Miss Weasley for nearly seven years. She is not one for silence."

The scratches on her stomach burned. Madam Pomfrey had given her a potion to numb the pain, but it was already wearing off. Her whole body ached. Especially… Oh, Merlin.

She needed to stop thinking about it. It only made her need to vomit.

She had already earned herself a bucket next to her bed on the floor.

"Minerva… I haven't healed her injuries. I actually need to ask you to contact the… The Ministry is going to need proof of this attack."

"Why is the Ministry's involvement necessary? We've never needed their involvement in an attack, before."

_Oh, no, no… No. Don't make this headline news. Don't you dare._

"The perpetrator…. This wasn't the result of a duel or a Muggle fistfight. I myself have never personally encountered such an attack in all of my time here at Hogwarts. An expulsion will be necessary. If we have no proof of Miss Weasley's injuries, the Ministry might not actually see this as…as an attack. Without proof, they will continue to let them to continue attending Hogwarts. Unless they have evidence that she… It must be more than speculation, Minerva."

_What are you doing? Why are you saying all this? Stop. Just stop talking._

Ginny's scrapes continued to burn, and she bit her lip. A scream built inside her. Her face was beating with blood, her flesh scorching and her skin stretching tight across her cheekbones.

"Poppy, I must ask that you cease to withhold information."

_Please don't. Please. Don't. No… Don't. I don't want to… You can't make me remember._

Madam Pomfrey's voice grew quiet. "Minerva…"

Ginny remembered Hermione's face. Her face when she found her, broken on the floor. When she understood. When she began to gasp, wringing her hands and thinking fast to figure out what she should do, what she was supposed to do, supposed to say.

Was she supposed to help her up? Was she supposed to leave her there? Should she get someone? Should she call for help?

"What, Poppy?"

She remembered Madam Pomfrey. Her expression of horror. The color draining from her face when Hermione whispered her suspicions. When she knew they were true.

"Miss Weasley was…"

_No._

The voices were suddenly hushed into grim whispers. There was no doubt as to what Madam Pomfrey was informing the headmistress.

Ginny made the decision right then to let her pain consume her, and that was when she screamed into her hands, which did nothing to muffle the din.

There was something distinctly satisfying about the scream. Perhaps it released some of the pressure forming in chest and relaxed the knot in her gut, but maybe it was because this was the first time she had really done something more than remain in the same stiff position for hours on end, or maybe it was because it was the only way she could remind them that she was there, she was listening, she knew what they were saying, and they needed to stop.

Or maybe it was that she was angry, and when she was angry, she screamed.

She screamed, her throat burning, until someone wrenched the sheets off of her and pulled her up into a sitting position. Her head was held still as Madam Pomfrey forced a potion down her throat, silencing her

The person holding her head was crying. Ginny could feel the fingers that gripped her, trembling.

Hermione, of course.

Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall seemed to be ready to cry with her, but refrained from doing so. Professor McGonagall was holding the removed sheets in her hands so tightly that her knuckles were turning white as they drained of blood.

Ginny felt the burning of her own tears threatening to emerge from her eyes, but she angrily forbade them to come forth. She had been crying on and off since midnight, and she no longer wanted to go through the process again. She was done with them. She didn't want to cry. She was angry. She wanted to break something. She wanted to run away.

Anything but cry.

She was Ginny Weasley. She wasn't supposed to cry. She didn't cry when she held a dying girl during the battle. She didn't cry when she broke her hand punching a wall after Fred's funeral. She didn't cry when she and Harry had a row, him yelling that he was going abroad for his Auror training so he could protect her and everyone else when they needed him, her screaming that if he really cared he wouldn't go away for months on end when she needed him right there and then.

She had convinced herself that she wasn't supposed to cry—it was her duty, to be one of the only strong ones left.

But then again, she wasn't supposed to get hurt, either.

She wanted to scream at them. That was it. She wanted to scream at Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey and Hermione. Scream at them for silencing her. Scream at them for speaking of the things she didn't ever want to remember.

It would kill her to remember.

She opened her mouth and attempted to push the sound through her throat, but the potion's effects blocked her yell, allowing only a soft hissing noise to escape.

Why didn't they find her sooner? Why didn't they keep her safe?

"_Come on, Ginny. Follow me."_

No. Oh, no. She was hearing his voice.

"It's okay, Ginny," Hermione said. Her voice broke.

_No. It's not okay._

"No one is going to hurt you."

_Really? Do you want to say that again? It's too late. Someone already did._

Madam Pomfrey set the empty potion bottle down on a nearby table. "I apologize, Miss Weasley," she said, "but I can't allow you to make much of a fuss in here. The other students will be alerted of your whereabouts and will surely wish to know of your condition. Considering the circumstances, that is not ideal for the time being."

"_Where're we going?"_

She could hear her own voice. Unknowing. Unsuspecting. Why would she have thought that things would turn out like they did? She had no reason to. She had thought she was in safe hands.

"Miss Weasley," Professor McGonagall said, releasing the sheets. They fell lightly to the floor. "Are you under control?"

_No._

"Yes," Ginny said softly. She looked away from the Headmistress.

Hermione was still crying. She released Ginny's head and wiped her face. "Sorry," she apologized, choking a bit. "Just give me a second." She struggled to gain control of her emotions. "Sorry," she said once more.

"There is no need to apologize," said Madam Pomfrey.

_Why are you crying, Hermione? You're not hurt. Are you crying for me? You shouldn't be. I'm hurt and I'm not crying anymore. Please, just stop crying. Stop it._

"Sorry," Hermione said once more, for good measure.

_I said stop it. Stop it right now._

Ginny redirected her attention to her arm. She could see a handprint sitting on her skin. She had rubbed at it for hours, yet it wouldn't fade. It remained there, serving as a reminder, only becoming an increasingly richer hue of purple as the hours went by.

"_Are we there yet?"_

"_Almost."_

"_Hurry up… Merlin, I'm tired."_

"_Fine. You can close your eyes and I'll lead you there."_

"_Like a surprise?"_

"_Yes. Exactly like a surprise."_

Yes. It had definitely been a surprise. Especially coming from him.

Ginny found herself remembering, exactly what she had been so afraid of doing. She remembered the dizziness from the Firewhiskey. She had downed it to drown everything out. The loneliness. The sadness. The losses she had suffered. The absence of one Harry Potter, the Chosen One, everyone so eager to get a bit of him that by the time it was Ginny's turn, there was nothing left.

She remembered everything. But she didn't cry. She wouldn't cry. Ginny looked back towards Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey.

"_Here we are."_

"_This is it?"_

"_Yes."_

"_It's a broom cupboard."_

"_I know it's a broom cupboard."_

Professor McGonagall took a deep breath. "Miss Weasley, I have already sent an owl to your family, informing them of the attack. However, at the time I was not aware of the…finer details of the current situation. They will have to be told the exact nature of the attack upon their arrival. If you do not wish to be the one to tell them, I will." She paused. "I will also need to know who it was that assaulted you. I assure you that they will be expelled from Hogwarts immediately."

Ginny just looked at her, remaining silent.

"Miss Weasley?"

Her face was blank as she thought.

_Should I tell you?_

She could feel the hand that had released her hours before, clenched on her arm. She felt the tightness on her arms and in the pit of her stomach and in her chest. It squeezed her, tighter and tighter, the blood flow slowing, a soft gasp of pain escaping her cracked lips.

_Can I tell you?_

She tried not to make an audible sound, able to see him smiling as he led her inside the small enclosure.

He walked behind her and began to close the door as the confusion slowly crept into her thoughts. What was going on?

She watched, almost as if everything were just a film and she was a mere bystander, a stream of consciousness flickering through her mind and across the back of her eyes, invisible to all but her.

Everything was spinning. It had spun then and it continued to spin now.

"Ginny?" Hermione asked gently.

"_I really like you, Ginny."_

"Ginny, who did this to you? We need to know." Hermione moved to stand with the Headmistress.

The door clicked shut as she watched. They were isolated from the rest of the school.

Isolated from help.

"_I know you like me. We're friends, aren't we? Friends like each other."_

"_You really are drunk, aren't you?"_

"_Shut up. We're friends, right?"_

"_Yeah…we're friends."_

"_So, what's so special about a broom cupboard, anyways?"_

"_This one? Well, it's really quiet, for one. So private."_

She watched with a grimace as she was pushed, pressed against a wall. The face was close. So close. Too close. She could see every detail of the satisfied smirk.

"_What are you doing?"_

"_Shh… Be quiet."_

She was helpless, both now and then. The unwanted moistness continued to burn behind her eyes. Her head was pounding, ready to burst.

Ginny welcomed the pain. She opened her arms to anything that would stop the images that she had to suffer through again and again and again, closing her arms tightly around it and refusing to let go.

If her head burst, she would die.

If she died, it would all stop.

"Ginny, please? Answer me. Who did this to you?" Hermione begged.

"_Let go of me! Get off! Stop! STOP!"_

"_It's going to be fine… Just relax."_

"_Get off of me!"_

Of course it hadn't been fine. The more that she struggled the more he grew determined to stop her. She had grabbed her wand from her pocket and pointed it at his chest, just to have him snatch it from her hand and throw it behind him, shoved against the wall repeatedly, pain and blood blossoming across the back of her head, his fists smashing against her arms, her stomach, her face, her chest, kicking her until she couldn't stand—couldn't struggle any longer, leaving her weak and pathetic on the floor. She had tried crawling away like a small child or a wounded animal, away to the light of the door, but he grabbed her, fingernails ripping into her stomach, blood dripping down in droplets. Her blood was on the floor, but she still couldn't find it in herself to scream—couldn't find the energy. The wind was knocked out of her as a heavy shoe collided with her ribs and all she could do was feel the burning pain as she was pinned to the floor, his wand suddenly stuck into her neck, and he smiled at his victory.

"_What?"_ he had asked upon seeing her face. _"Don't you like me? Don't you love me like you love your precious Potter?"_

Maybe the war had changed him. Maybe it hadn't. But all she could wonder was how the hell was he able to weasel his way into Gryffindor, where dwelled the brave, where Dumbledore and Harry Potter had found their home, where she had been able to find peers and friendship and love—not this. Not what he did.

"_Don't worry. You will. Maybe even more."_

He had kissed her. Maybe that was one of the worst parts. The kiss. She hadn't kissed anyone other than Harry since she was fifteen. She hadn't been with…. No, that was too much. It was the kiss that she could manage to think about, allow herself to remember. It was the memory of the kiss – not the rest – that she could bear to dissect. He just ripped that away from her, right then. Just pressed his lips to her bleeding mouth and did it.

"_Shh…Hey. You're safe."_

He had left her when he was finished, leaving her curled up and whimpering on the floor. And by then, all she was able to do was think how glad she was that he was gone. Didn't care that she could stand up and stagger out until she could find help, but just cared that he was finally gone.

But, moments later, he had returned, light flooding through the door and onto her broken form.

_Leave me alone. Why can't you just leave me alone? Leave me alone. Haven't you done enough?_

"Miss Weasley! I cannot help you if you refuse to give me an answer!"

"Ginny, answer her!"

"Minerva, perhaps we could use a spell to…."

"No, Poppy. I refuse to use force on the girl. Miss Weasley, I will ask you one more time, and this time, you will give me an answer."

At first she had thought that he was back for more as she scrambled back. She had tried to hide, trying desperately to find what was left in her body to get away or reach her wand or do something to protect herself from the monster that approached her.

That wasn't what he had wanted. He had grabbed Ginny's hair and tugged, twisting her neck, his fingers caught in her red hair, even darker from the clotting blood. Hair had ripped from her scalp, she choked on the bile in her throat struggling against him, struggling unsuccessfully, struggling against the monster.

"I…I…Um…." Ginny looked down at her blood-crusted skirt. She hadn't let Madam Pomfrey give her a clean set of pajamas. She hadn't let her touch the skirt. Hadn't let her touch her at all.

She hadn't let anyone get that close to her.

She didn't want anyone touching her ever again.

_Stop it. Can't you see? Why don't you see? Look what you're doing._

"I don't…." she whispered, trying to form a complete sentence, but the words died on her lips. The images she saw were like flashing neon lights and distracting her from what was real and making the wetness burn in her eyes like acid once more until she wanted to do nothing but scream, which she knew that she couldn't, flickering faster and faster, gleefully displaying his face over and over again, a continuous loop of him laughing down at her.

She knew his face. They probably knew it as well. But the name refused to emerge from her lips. It hid slyly from the three women before her, sniggering as she searched for it helplessly to no avail.

_I can't tell you, can I?_

She flashed to herself screaming silently in pain, trying to push him away. He had grabbed her neck with his hands, choking her, keeping her legs down with his own.

"_You want me to let go, don't you? All right, but you'll have to ask nicely. You'll have to beg for it."_

"_Let—let go."_

"_Not good enough."_

"_Le—plea—just—let me go."_

"_What was that?"_

"_Let g-go—go o-of me. Plea—please… Let me—please. Please!"_

She had slowly given up, her eyes fogging up as she tried to pry his fingers off of her throat, losing the battle, losing consciousness.

Ginny looked up, her eyes darting from Madam Pomfrey to Professor McGonagall to Hermione.

"I don't remember," she whispered. "I can't," she lied.

Hermione burst into tears. Madam Pomfrey walked away, unable to participate any longer, her hands over her mouth.

"_Hey. Listen to me. Listen to me!"_

Professor McGonagall gave her a look. A tired look. A pitied look. She opened her mouth to speak.

"_Shut up, you stupid girl. I'm not going to hurt you."_

Ridiculous, she knew, but she had honestly wanted to believe him in her beaten, intoxicated state.

_You have hurt me. Don't you see that? Because of you, I hurt. Are you happy, now? Did you get what you wanted?_

Yes. Of course he got what he wanted_._

"You have no recollection of who... Are you positive that…." The headmistress motioned to Ginny's injuries.

_Of course I do._

"No, Professor."

"Very well," the woman said quietly. She stood there for a moment, looking at Ginny, the severity of her face softening into an expression of pity. Then slowly, she reached forward, about to touch Ginny's shoulder comfortingly, but withdrew her hand as quickly as it was offered, letting it drop to her side, lightly swinging back and forth.

Her face twisted in pain, she walked away.

To the doors she went, appearing strong, but as the doors opened, her shoulders slumped. As the doors closed, Ginny could see her place hand to her forehead, and then they slammed shut.

"_Listen to me, Weasley. Your life depends on it."_

Ginny bent over and grabbed her sheets from the floor. She smoothed them over her bed, needing to keep herself busy. She needed the distraction.

"_If you tell anyone I was here, I will kill you. Is that understood?"_

Hermione took one long and careful look at Ginny. "Ginny…" she said, trailing off.

"You can go, Hermione," said Ginny, wanting her to exit the room and never come back, saving her from the supportive speech she knew she would receive in time. All she wanted was to be left in what little peace she could manage, and if that happened to be dressing her cot in the Hospital Wing, so be it.

"Ginny…I…."

"Hermione, just go, will you?"

So she did, giving Ginny one last expression of concern and sympathy before she left.

Soon, Ginny was alone in the room. She was finally alone in her head. She leaned against the wall and sunk to the floor, resting her head against the cold stone, breathing shallowly. She closed her eyes.

"_Did you hear me? Do you understand? Answer me!"_

She could still feel his hand release her throat and grab her arm. He had squeezed until she could feel it losing circulation, squeezing until his fingernails sunk into her flesh and forced blood through the slits.

Ginny held her breath, feeling the invisible hand grip her tighter as she sat there, cold and empty and alone.

"_Do you understand, Weasley?"_

"_Yes."_

"_I can't hear you!"_

"_I understand."_

"_Really? I don't believe you."_

"_I understand! I understand! Please! Just… Just let me go. Please, just let me go."_

Ginny sat there and slowly exhaled until her thoughts slowed to a stop.

Fine, then.

She understood.

She really did.

**- **

"_You know what?"_

"_What?"_

"_You're a really great friend."_

"_You're just saying that."_

"_No, I mean it. I'm glad we're friends. I really like you."_

"_I like you too, Ginny."_

"_So, what do you think? Of the party, I mean. Are you enjoying yourself?"_

"_It's okay… Hey! Slow down. How many drinks have you had?"_

"_Who are you, my mother?"_

"_No, I guess not. Er…hey. Ginny. Do you want to go somewhere?"_


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This isn't my favorite chapter, but in the end it gets the job done. Please read, review, and enjoy!

Chapter 3: Staring

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><p>"<em>What's going on, here?"<em>

"_It's the party! You remember I told you about the party, don't you?"_

"_Yes, you did, Ginny, but you told me it would just be Butterbeer! There's Firewhiskey everywhere!"_

"_Oh…yeah, I didn't know about that at first, but we've sent everyone third year and younger to bed. It's fine."_

"_Fine? Fine? This is illegal!"_

"_Relax, Hermione. Everything's going to be okay."_

"_How much have you had to drink, Ginny?"_

"_That's not important."_

"_Merlin… You know what? I can't do this. I'm going to McGonagall!"_

"_No! Please! You can't! Just… I promise, the second anything gets out of control, you can go to McGonagall, but nothing is going wrong right now. Just… Just give it a bit, okay? Please? Will you do it for me?"_

"_Oh… Fine. You can have a few hours. But if anything gets out of hand, I swear that I'll—"_

"_You have my word."_

* * *

><p>Hermione stared. It was all she could really manage to do. Just stare.<p>

Stare at empty hallways. Stare at closed doors. Opened doors. Opened eyes. Dripping eyes. Burning eyes. Screaming eyes.

"_Oh, no… Merlin, Ginny… What did you…? What are we going to do, Ginny? Damn it… What am I supposed to do? Oh, no. What am I supposed to do?"_

She could still hear the dry click of the camera as the photographer shuffled into different positions, kneeling down on the floor, never removing the camera from his face.

_Click._

"Turn."

_Click._

"Turn."

_Click._

The Ministry had come and gone, photographing Ginny's injuries and scratching notes on a piece of parchment with a large quill as they spoke with Professor McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey, and Hermione, who had graciously been invited into the conversation, being the closest of Ginny's friends at Hogwarts.

"Miss Granger, around what time did you find Miss Weasley?"

"About four-thirty this morning," she had replied nervously, but dutifully.

"When was it that you realized she was missing from Gryffindor Tower?"

"Around one-thirty."

"And where exactly did you find her?"

"In a broom cupboard on the fourth floor."

The Ministry official had looked her over carefully. She took a breath and said, "Am I correct in saying that there was a celebration of sorts in Gryffindor Tower last night?"

Hermione had flushed at that, feeling the heat emanate from her face. "Yes," she had muttered.

"Now, are you aware of if the incident was Miss Weasley's first—"

"I don't—" Hermione interrupted, flushing an even deeper shade of red. "I don't know. Probably…no. I don't think so…I mean, she has…Harry and she have been in a relationship for…No. No, it wasn't. I'm fairly sure it wasn't." Hermione was babbling, becoming more uncomfortable by the second. She took a deep breath, allowing the official to move on to the next question.

"Is it true to say that all of the students had access to Firewhiskey?"

"Yes. But everyone third year and younger was sent to the dormitories beforehand."

With an eyebrow raised, the official had then written something down on the parchment, and once finished, looked back up at Hermione. She hesitated a moment before saying, in a slow manner, "Are you absolutely positive that none of Miss Weasley's injuries were self-inflicted?"

At that, Hermione's face had flushed in a different manner.

"_Self-inflicted?_" she had asked, her voice shaking. "You think her wounds are _self-inflicted?_" Rage was welling in her throat and acid churned in her stomach. "I've known Ginny since she was eleven. There is no way in _hell_ that she would ever intentionally hurt herself." She swallowed. "There are handprints bruised onto her arms. There are finger markings on her neck that she could only get from someone choking her. Ginny is _not _the sort of girl who would sink low enough to do such a thing." Hermione swept a hand through her bushy hair.

"Ginny's stronger than that," Hermione said quietly, more to herself than to the official. "I know she is."

Hermione had refused to say anything more after that, relocating herself to a corner of the Hospital Wing. When the Ministry left, she had no choice but to stare at Ginny, who sat on her cot with her eyes glued to the floor.

Ginny had finally allowed for Madam Pomfrey to offer her a new outfit in exchange for the blood-covered skirt and shirt that she had previously been wearing. She had gone to the private Prefects' bathroom once the Ministry officials left as well, with Hermione as her chaperone, and she had spent nearly an hour in there, Hermione patiently waiting outside, guarding the door. With the blood finally washed out of her hair, Ginny had quietly returned to the Hospital Wing, and only spoke when spoken to.

It was rather worrying, but Madam Pomfrey unhelpfully said that it was to be expected in times of trouble.

As she stood there, Hermione began to run everything that had happened through her head. She went step by step.

The party started. Ginny left. The party continued. People drank. Hermione yelled. Romilda informed. Hermione searched. Ginny cried. Hermione cried. Hermione stared.

All of it had gone down over the course of less than a day.

She went over it again. Then, again. And again. And finally, something hit her.

Ginny knew. She knew more than she said. She was hiding it inside her, but it was there.

Even though she highly doubted Ginny would cooperate, Hermione made a decision. Quickly, she walked over to where Ginny sat.

"Hi," she said.

Ginny looked up at her. "Hi," she said back.

Hermione swallowed. She would begin lightly. "Madam Pomfrey says that you can leave soon, if you'd like. You could go and stay in the Head Girl's dormitory. You can even go back to the dormitories tomorrow morning, after your parents arrive. That is, if you'd like to."

Ginny just peered at Hermione carefully for a few seconds before looking back at the floor. Her shoulders were tensed. "What time is it?" she asked, her voice much louder and clearer than Hermione expected it to be.

Hermione glanced at her watch. "Five at night," she said.

"Right," said Ginny, furrowing her brow. 'It's getting late."

"I guess so," Hermione replied, sitting down next to Ginny, who continued to look down.

Was Ginny ashamed? Was that why she wouldn't look at her?

"Does Harry know, yet?" Ginny asked. "Has anyone told him?"

Caught off guard, Hermione struggled to respond. "Er…no, but I could go send him an owl."

"No," Ginny said forcefully. "I want to be the one to tell him."

"Oh… All right, then."

"Do you mind telling that to Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall?"

"Yeah. Sure. I will."

"Thanks."

The two fell back into an awkward silence, Hermione internally scolding herself for not speaking her mind. She waited for her lost confidence to return. She waited to finally become brave for once.

"Ginny?" Hermione finally asked, breaking the awful silence. She immediately regretted saying anything, but it was too late now.

"Yes?"

Hermione paused, knowing she had to go on. She took a deep breath. "Are you positive that you can't remember?" she asked. "Your attacker, I mean? Don't you have any idea?"

Ginny turned to look at her; face filled with what Hermione had no doubt to be anger.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Ginny, her eyes burning holes through Hermione. "I've already said that I can't remember. What—don't you believe me?"

"It's just that," said Hermione, feeling her face begin to flush, "I just find it hard to believe that you can't remember someone whom you walked all the way down to the fourth floor with, and that doesn't even include the time you probably spent dodging Filch."

"This is perfect," Ginny spat. "Great. So you don't believe me. That's just wonderful, Hermione. Really." Ginny's face was hardening into stone. "Do you even know how much I had to drink, Hermione? No, you don't. If you did, you'd know that I could barely remember a thing from last night, let alone whom I went out with. By the time I left the common room, I could barely tell anyone apart."

Hermione sighed and shook her head.

She was more than certain now.

Ginny remembered. She could remember everything. It was as simple as that.

"You do know," she whispered.

Ginny stood angrily. "I said that I don't remember!" she snapped.

Hermione stood up as well. "Then why don't I believe you?" she asked fiercely.

Ginny said nothing, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Her breathing was heavy.

"Well?" asked Hermione.

"I won't repeat myself," said Ginny. "I don't care if you believe me or not. I won't say anything otherwise. I don't need to explain myself to you."

Hermione could feel her face redden to a color similar to Ginny's hair, a new determination coming over her. "Why can't you tell me?" she demanded. "I'm trying to help you!"

The burn in Ginny's eyes flickered, just barely, and for a split second her face fell.

"I'm telling you the truth," she said, but the edge in her voice had vanished.

Hermione breathed slowly. "Are you _afraid_ to tell me?" she asked.

The fire flared once more and Ginny clenched her fists. "I'm not afraid," she hissed, and then walked away.

Hermione watched, frustrated, as she slowed to a halt. Ginny spun around, seething, the rage steaming from her ears.

"I'm not afraid of you, or McGonagall, or anyone in this entire school!" she screamed. "I'm NOT!" She began to back toward the doors of the Hospital Wing. "I don't need your pity," she spat, and she turned back around and ran to the doors.

Ginny grabbed the handles to fling the doors open, only to be interrupted by a loud shout.

"Where do you think you're off to, Miss Weasley?" yelled Madam Pomfrey from her office. "You are not to leave this hospital until tomorrow!"

Ginny screamed in frustration, slamming the flat of her hand against the still-unopened door.

"_How did this happen to you? Ginny? Answer me. Please. How did this happen to you, Ginny?"_

"_Leave."_

"_No! Ginny… We need to get you help… We should… Madam Pomfrey can… I'm going to…."_

"_Leave, Hermione."_

"_Come on. We're getting you up… We're going to the Hospital Wing."_

For a second Hermione thought that Ginny might leave anyway, but she was immediately proved wrong. Ginny slowly began to stomp back toward Hermione.

_Why did you go? _Thought Hermione. _Why did I let you go? Why did I wait so long?_

_How could I let this happen?_

"All right, then," said Ginny. "You can leave, Hermione."

She had already ordered her to exit the Hospital once before, but Hermione had accepted it then.

This command stung.

"What?" she asked in disbelief.

"I said you could leave." Ginny's eyes were cold. She was cold. Her eyes were even cold, and they had possessed a perpetual fire for countless hours.

"No," Hermione retorted, not thinking. Her eyes widened upon hearing her own voice, surprised that she had refused. She had rejected Ginny's wishes, something she had distinctly told herself not to do upon finding her in that broom cupboard.

"What do you mean, no?" Ginny's hands were shaking. For the first time, Hermione was grateful that Ginny had not yet regained possession of her wand, and the threatening rod of wood was safely abandoned on the fourth floor.

"I mean," said Hermione, before she could stop herself, "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to leave you alone."

"Alone?" Ginny asked through gritted teeth. "You don't think I can handle being alone? Because, I think I could manage it. I sat _alone_ in a cupboard in the dark for four hours. During the battle last year I was _alone _in the Room of Requirement while everyone was dying until Harry finally let me leave! No one's said a word to me all day except for when they want to talk to me about what happened, and I honestly _hate_ that I'm supposed to answer every time. You have no idea how long I've been _alone,_ Hermione. And you know what? The only person I've been able to talk to today is you – and honestly? I'm sick of it." Ginny crossed her arms over her chest. "I want to leave, but seeing as I can't, that's up to you."

Hermione said nothing.

"What?" Ginny asked bitterly. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"What am I supposed to say?" Hermione replied. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"Oh, so you don't know what to do?" Ginny asked. "And why is that, Hermione? Because you _always_ know what to do."

"This is different!" Hermione's voice was cracking under the pressure of Ginny's words.

"Tell me why it's different," Ginny ordered, her volume rising. 'You knew what to do when you set out to help Harry defeat Voldemort. You knew what to do when everyone was being murdered in the war. You even knew what to do when Bellatrix Lestrange tortured and nearly killed you! What makes now any different?"

"It just is!" Hermione exclaimed. "But it certainly doesn't help that you're acting like somehow this is my fault when you're the one who got yourself into this mess in the first place!"

She would never be able to take back those words. Never be able to regret them more than she did right then.

Something shot through the air and smashed into Hermione's face. She staggered back, blood dripping from her nose.

Ginny glared at her, her fist still raised.

"You _punched _me!" Hermione screamed.

"GET OUT!" Ginny retaliated, jabbing her hand at the thick wooden doors.

"You're out of control!" Hermione said, holding a sleeve to her nose, attempting to staunch the bleeding.

Out of nowhere, Madam Pomfrey appeared. Stepping between the two girls, she glared at them both.

"Miss Granger, I suggest that you leave," she said briskly.

"Ginny, you need to get a hold of yourself," said Hermione, backing toward the doors.

"Leave me alone!" Ginny screamed shrilly, her face as red as her hair.

"Ginny—"

"I don't _need_ you."

"I can't _believe_—I'm trying to help you!"

"Don't!"

"Don't say that."

"I don't want you here! I don't want you around me anymore!"

"Why won't you just talk to me?" Hermione asked desperately. She was frustrated, and she had a right to be. Ginny had a right to be angry, of course, but this was for her own good. It was for her wellbeing—for her sanity and for her state of mind and life in the future. How would her family cope if all Ginny did was to snap at them? How would Harry feel if she closed herself off to him? How would her friends act if they decided she didn't want them around any more?

How would anyone act if they found out that Ginny Weasley, known for her powerful hexes, wit, and strength, could actually be torn down and defeated?

Ginny was too stubborn for her own good, and that would hurt her if she wasn't too careful, and from what Hermione could tell, she was being everything but.

"I don't have to talk to you," Ginny snapped. "I don't want to, and I don't have to. I won't. Go back to the dormitories, Hermione. Go wherever—I really don't care. Just don't stay here.

Hermione left. She left, refusing to look back. She left, knowing that Ginny was already forming invincible walls around herself. She would stick to her story until she was forced to say otherwise. But Hermione hoped, for a few seconds, that Ginny was simply bluffing. She hoped, for those few meager moments, that the doors would fly open and Ginny would call for her to come back as quickly as possible, begging to let her explain what the truth really was, and how she felt, and why she needed to lie.

Ginny was scared. She was hurt. And whether she liked it or not, she needed someone—anyone—to be there for her.

Hermione walked on, nothing but silence behind her.

When she finally returned to the Hospital Wing an hour later, after what felt like an eternity sitting in an armchair by the fire in the common room, letting the guilt and the anger and the regret consume her, she received no apologetic greeting. Ginny refused to look at her.

She refused to say a word.

* * *

><p>"<em>I thought you said that it would just be Butterbeer!"<em>

"_I know, but some of my mates snuck it in from Hogsmeade. I couldn't just say no."_

"_But it'll be illegal for most of the kids to drink it! We can't just break the law like this!"_

"_I'm sorry, Ginny…I shouldn't have agreed to it, but it's done. I can't just get rid of it. The professors would notice I was doing something. They'd probably think I'm trying to sneak it into the castle instead of out."_

"_You know what? Fine. But we have to keep a close eye on it to make sure no one's drinking it if they're not supposed to. And you can't bring it out until late. We should make sure that anyone third year and younger goes off to bed before they know we have it."_

"_What about fourth and fifth years?"_

"_I don't know. They can probably handle it. Just keep an eye on them, all right?"_

"_Yeah. Sure."_

"_You know, even though your mates completely messed this up, you're a really good friend for planning all this."_

"_Thanks. I won't let you down."_


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks to everyone who read the last chapter, and thanks to all who didn't, but have taken the time to read any of the previous chapters. I noticed there are a lot of you on alerts who didn't review, but that's okay, as long as I'm sure you're there. This is shorter than the other chapters, but I do have a plan as to where this is going. Please read, review, and hopefully enjoy!

* * *

><p>Chapter 4: Visitors<p>

* * *

><p>"<em>Ginny."<em>

"_Yeah?"_

"_When was the last time you sent an owl to your parents?"_

"_I dunno. It's been a while, I guess."_

"_Maybe you should write to them."_

"_Why d'you think I should?"_

"_I know my parents don't like it when I don't write to them. And it's always nice to hear back from them."_

"_I think I'll manage without them, Hermione."_

"_Are you sure?"_

"_I'm sure. And besides… I have that party to look forward to, don't I?"_

"_Yeah. I suppose you do."_

* * *

><p>Ginny frowned, contemplating which option to take in terms of how to react. Her current situation was beyond unpleasant, and had she not taken a vow of silence, she would most likely be screaming at the top of her lungs, performing a sort of war chant as she rushed up to the dormitories and lopped off a few heads with Godric Gryffindor's sword.<p>

After a quick glance at her watch – It was eight already? – Ginny looked down, her brow furrowing.

The issue was that the bruises on her separate limbs had finally accomplished what she had suspected all along—they had managed to form one grand purple contusion that extended from the roots of her scalp to the swollen lumps of her ankles. Her kneecaps had long since disappeared into the puffed red flesh of her legs.

Of course, she realized after allowing herself to calm down, she was the master of her own physical state. Screaming would do nothing to satisfy her—she had lasted this long with the physical pain without the help of magic, so pleading that she be healed would only give her a tremendous feeling of disappointment in herself for not being able to brave the violent battle occurring between the blood cells underneath her skin.

Madam Pomfrey had begged her to allow her to heal her wounds, but Ginny had stubbornly opted to suffer in her continuous silence, refusing to permit anyone within a meter's distance of her cot, simply sitting cross-legged on the white sheets and staring at her hands.

She had not yet reclaimed her wand.

Soft whispers were drifting from under the door, one voice recognizably her mother's, the other her father's, the final one McGonagall's, not nearly the sharpest of the three.

"Let me see her—"

"Molly, you must understand—"

"She's my daughter, damn it! Arthur, tell her—"

"Minerva, please."

"Arthur, all I am trying to communicate is that it is possible your daughter will—"

"Minerva, I will insist that you move aside!"

"Molly, I—"

Ginny's mother burst into the Hospital Wing, sparking a cry of protest from Madam Pomfrey, who was shoved aside in the mad rush to reach the single occupied cot. Ginny gasped in pain as Molly threw her arms around her, crushing her in a powerful embrace.

"Oh, Ginny, when your father and I heard—oh, sorry, sweet—we didn't know what to say, and your father was caught up at the Ministry and they wouldn't allow him to leave—Your brothers know, Percy spoke with the photographer who was here—we couldn't get a hold of Harry—he's off somewhere in the mountains as a part of his training—"

"Molly."

Ginny looked over her mother's shoulder and saw her father, who was standing in the archway of the door, his face pale.

"Molly, look at her," he said in a hoarse voice. He said no more, looking at his shaking hands.

For the first time, Molly took Ginny and held her out an arm's length in front of her, her face falling as she truly saw what a state she was in. Her lips began to quiver, her eyes watering as she released Ginny in order to cover her mouth with her hands.

"Oh Lord… You're…." She trailed off, unable to come up with the appropriate words. "Ginny, I…." She burst into tears, throwing her arms around Ginny once more. Ginny simply let her hold her, her head lolling a bit as her mother shook.

It was then that Hermione burst into the Hospital Wing, panting. "Ginny, I'm sorry, I—" She broke off upon seeing Mrs. Weasley, who had immediately positioned herself so that her arms were spread protectively in front of Ginny, glaring at the latest occupant of the room. Hermione raised her hands in surrender, her face pale.

Molly relaxed, lowering her arms. "Sorry, dear," she said. "Didn't mean to frighten you. I just—" she broke off, shaking her head to herself. She looked back up at her, but frowned. "Hermione, what happened to your nose?"

Hermione's face fell. "Yeah… I was about to ask Madam Pomfrey about fixing it, but I…." she trailed away from her statement upon seeing the concern in Mrs. Weasley's face for her daughter. Feeling as though it was not the best time to garner sympathy for herself, she chose not to go into detail. "There was an incident," she concluded, glancing at Ginny, who gave her a blank stare, as if to infer that no such thing had occurred.

Hermione looked to Arthur, who continued to stand where he was, face white and cracking, a choking noise faintly emitting from his throat.

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," she began, "I heard you arrived and I—"

"I would like to know how this happened," Arthur interrupted, surprising both Hermione and Molly.

"Um…" Hermione began to say, her voice shaking. "We were… There was Firewhiskey, and…er…."

"How did you get a hold of Firewhiskey?" Molly snapped, grabbing Ginny by the shoulders. "You didn't drink any, did you?"

"_How the hell did your mates get Firewhiskey, anyways?"_

"_They're of age… They each bought a lot, put it in some empty Butterbeer bottles, and kept on going back until they had maybe thirty bottles each."_

"_Twenty? How many times did they go back?"_

"_Well…they might have transfigured themselves a few times. I'm guessing they went about ten times, two drinks a go…"_

"_You have got to be kidding me! Why didn't they just get Butterbeer?"_

"_I dunno! Ask them! I had nothing to do with it!"_

Ginny didn't dare look at her mother, instead choosing to stare at the wall to her immediate left.

"Ginny, answer me. Did you drink anything?"

Ginny was silent.

"She's not going to say anything," Hermione said quietly from Arthur's side.

Both Molly and Arthur looked to her alarmingly.

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked quietly, his eyes wide. "There's nothing wrong with her—?"

"No, her voice is fine," Hermione clarified. "She just…er…."

Molly gently began to shake Ginny back and forth. "Ginny, is this true? Ginny? Ginny—" she gave her a more ferocious shake, "_say_ something!"

"Mrs. Weasley, please! You're hurting her!" Hermione exclaimed.

It was true. Ginny's head was snapping back and forth painfully, her mother's fingers digging into her shoulders. The strain of not crying out was causing her face to turn red, her hair falling into her face and in her mouth, but she spat it out without saying a word.

"She hasn't spoken to me for a couple of hours," Hermione added, but her voice seemed distant to Ginny, who was still trying to keep her eyes away from her mother and at the window, which displayed a cheerful sky outside, the clouds nonexistent, everything a vibrant blue. She wondered for a moment what it would be like if the Hospital Wing were that blue instead of its stark white. The blue looked happy. Would she be feeling happier if the walls inside were blue?

"_It's getting dark."_

"_Yeah. We'd better get up to the common room, then."_

"_We should but…um… Everything's going to work out, right? No one's going to get hurt? I mean, it's all a bit risky, having Firewhiskey there. People could get drunk. They could do something stupid."_

"_Everyone's going to be fine. I'll make sure of it."_

Of course, after Hermione left, she hadn't been feeling much of anything once her anger settled. Maybe blue colors wouldn't do anything for her.

"She was angry a while back…at me…at everyone really. She spent a bit being really upset, which we all understood, of course, but then she was really furious…. She hasn't been allowed out, you see. She said something about not needing to talk to anyone…and…well, she hasn't spoken a word since."

"Yes, but what _happened_, Hermione?"

Maybe if she were good enough they would allow her outside. She could just grab her broomstick and fly around the pitch for a while, shoot some Quaffles at the hoops. Maybe she could just fly out of the grounds, over the forest, to the mountains. That was where Harry was, wasn't it?

"I don't know how much Ginny had to drink…but she left with him around midnight…I found her a few hours later…we're still not sure who she left with, and she says she can't remember… She was still drunk when I found her, and the added trauma of the attack…there was nothing she could have done to protect herself, she was so out of it…."

"_Ginny, come on, we're almost there."_

"'_M sorry, 'Mione. I'm sorry…."_

"_Stop saying that!"_

"_I'm sorry…."_

"_Please stop saying that. It's not your fault…."_

"_Yup…it is…I could've…I dunno…I could've…."_

"_You're drunk."_

"_He said…I know that I'm…It hurts, Hermione."_

"_Shh…. It's going to be fine once we get to the Hospital. You'll be fine."_

"_I'm sorry."_

"But, why did she even drink in the first place? In all her letters, she—"

"When was the last time she sent you a letter, Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione asked. "I've been trying to get her to write you, but she always says that she's busy."

"She sent me one just last week! She told me that she was studying for her NEWTS and that she missed us all."

"Did she tell you how she was doing?"

"Yes, she said that—"

"I can tell you right now that she hasn't been doing well," Hermione interjected. "I've been trying to get her back to normal, but I can't say that it's been easy. That party was the first thing that had her excited in ages."

Molly had no argument for that, falling silent. The only sound left was that of everyone's breathing.

Suddenly, Arthur spoke.

"Thank you for finding her, Hermione," he said softly, patting Hermione's shoulder gratefully.

Hermione flushed, mainly out of what Ginny saw to be embarrassment and an overwhelming sense of guilt, rather than pride.

Ginny fidgeted where she sat, twisting her sheets between her fingers. It had never occurred to her that her own parents' pain would only increase the torment of the situation. It wasn't their place to be feeling so upset when she was the one being subjected to sympathy and pity, was it? It was their job to be supportive and strong, allowing her to move at her own pace and only ask her what happened and how she was feeling when she allowed them to, right? That was how it worked, wasn't it?

She noticed a bit of dried blood underneath her fingernails, still there even after she had spent an hour scrubbing at her skin until it was pink wherever it wasn't purple. Her face went pale.

Was it his or hers?

She stood right then, surprising Molly, who backed away from the cot to give her space. Hermione raised an eyebrow, while Arthur went stiff, prepared to do whatever was necessary to assist his daughter.

Ginny ignored her mother's exclamation of protest as she strode past her, and to the doors. She pushed her way past Hermione and her father, and exited the room.

There was a classroom nearby—she had seen it before on her countless visits to the Hospital Wing, but she had never before entered it. She burst into the room, scanned it over, and then quickly grabbed an abandoned piece of parchment and a spare quill off of the professor's desk. She inked the quill and wrote in large letters across the parchment.

"Ginny, what are you doing?" Ginny could hear Hermione yell from outside the classroom. She shook her head to herself, dismissing the call.

"Ginny!" Hermione shouted again.

Ginny sighed, folding up the piece of parchment and tucking it into her pocket. She dropped the quill back on the desk.

"Ginny what are you—where are you going?" Hermione asked, standing in the hallway as Ginny emerged from the classroom. She followed her as Ginny made her way to the Grand Staircase, stepped on it, and allowed for it to move so that it was no longer available to Hermione, who was left standing helplessly as a new staircase took its place.

"Ginny!" she yelled, but it was no use—Ginny was already making her way up the stairs, disappearing from Hermione's view.

Ginny continued on until she reached the seventh floor, and then, approaching a portrait of a sallow old wizard with a lopsided crown on his head, fished the parchment out of her pocket and unfolded it.

"Password?" asked the portrait sullenly, glancing up at her tiredly.

Ginny stretched the parchment out in front of her, displaying in large letters, the words "praevaluit virtus."

"And so it did," said the wizard, lazily flourishing a hand as the portrait swung open. Ginny clambered in, a tad surprised that she had been allowed entrance without actually saying a word, and she stepped inside the Head Boy and Girl dormitory.

There was a common room, similar to that of the Gryffindor Common Room, albeit smaller and definitely not as crowded. There were a couple of cushy chairs by the fireplace, but upon further investigation, Ginny found that there was a long drag mark across the floor, as if someone had lugged their trunk across the carpet in a rush to empty the room.

Ginny took a seat by the fire, sinking back into the soft fabric. Well, then. Hermione had not been lying when she offered to give Ginny the Head Girl's dormitory, which had apparently involved that the Head Boy evacuate his own dormitory as well.

Ginny folded the parchment back up and returned it to her pocket, stood, and began to walk up the stairs to where she assumed to be the Head Girl's room, prepared to find some peace and quiet, lie down, and finally go to sleep.

Yet, when she managed to comfortably lie back on the sheets and close her eyes, she found that what she saw behind her closed eyelids was not a welcoming darkness, but a horribly vivid memory of a certain person's eyes staring cruelly into her mind and soul, laughing and laughing until she sat up and threw herself off of the bed. She spent a second or two on her hands and knees, staring at the floor, before she lunged at the wall.

She pounded against it, her face turning as red as her un-brushed hair, until finally, with a throbbing in her head, she stumbled to the corner, bent over, and heaved.

* * *

><p><em>"Look. I wrote them. Are you happy now?"<em>

_"Did you tell them how you're doing?"_

_"No."_

_"Then, no. I'm not."_

_"What do you want from me, Hermione?"_

_"I want you to get better."_

_"There's nothing wrong with me!"_

_"So you say."_

_"I'm sorry for disappointing you, then, since we both know that my whole entire life revolves around your satisfaction."_

_"I'm trying to help you, Ginny."_

_"Yeah? Then just leave me alone."_

_"Ginny!"_

_"I can't do this with you right now, Hermione."_

_"Fine, then. Come and find me once you get over yourself."_


End file.
